El modesto misterio

Para mi proyecto final voy a traducir el libro “El agua del paraíso” por Benito Pastoriza Iyodo. Se trata de dos personas que Han sido marcadas por la adversidad de la vida

Original:

Prologue

Once upon a time, not so very long ago…

This story begins with a carriage that was never a pumpkin, though it fled at midnight; a godmother who lost track of her charge, though she had no magic wand; and several so-called rats who secretly would have enjoyed wearing livery.

And, of course, there’s a girl too, though she didn’t know how to dance, nor did she want to marry a prince.

But it really begins with the rats.

They were out of control; everybody said so. Mrs. Swallow, the housekeeper, fretted about it regularly. “I can’t abide the way those little varmints chew up a pair of shoes when a body’s not looking,” she told the butler, a comfortable soul by the name of Mr. Cherryderry.

“I know just what you’re saying,” he told her with an edge in his voice that she didn’t hear often. “I can’t abide them. Those sharp noses, and the yapping at night, and —”

“The way they eat!” Mrs. Swallow broke in. “From the table, from the very plates!”

“It is from the plates,” Cherryderry told her. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Mrs. Swallow, that I have! By the hand of Mrs. Daltry herself!”

Mrs. Swallows’ Little shriek might have been heard all the way in the drawing room… except the rats were making such a racket that no one in the chamber could hear anything.       

One

Yarrow House,
the residence of Mrs. Mariana Daltry, her daughter Victoria, and Miss Katherine Daltry

Miss Katherine Daltry, known to almost all as Kate, got down from her horse seething with rage.

It should be said that the condition wasn’t unfamiliar to her. Before her father died seven years earlier, she found herself sometimes irritated with her new stepmother. But it wasn’t until he was gone, and the new Mrs. Daltry – who had held that title for a matter of mere months – started ruling the roost, that Kate really learned the meaning of anger.
Anger was watching tenants on the estate be forced to pay double the rent or leave cottages where they’d lived their whole lives. Anger was watching the crops wilt and the hedges overgrow because her stepmother begrudged the money needed to maintain the estate. Anger was watching her father’s money be poured into new gowns and bonnets and frilly things…so numerous that her stepmother and stepsister couldn’t find days enough in the year to wear them all.

It was the pitying glances she had from acquaintances who never met her at dinner anymore. It was being relegated to a chamber in the attic, with faded furnishings that advertised her relative worth in the household. It was the self-loathing of someone who can’t quite bring herself to leave home and have done with it. It was fueled by humiliation, and despair, and the absolute certainty that her father must be turning in his grave.

 Translation:

Prólogo

Había una vez, hace poco tiempo…

      Esta historia empieza con un carruaje que nunca fue una calabaza, a pesar de ello escapó a la medianoche; una madrina que perdió  el rastro de su ahijada, pero no tenía una varita mágica; y varios perritos conocidos como ratas que secretamente hubieran disfrutado ponerse uniformes.

      Y por supuesto, también había una chica, que no sabía cómo bailar ni tampoco quería casarse con un príncipe.

      Pero realmente empieza con las ratas.

      Todas estaban fuera de control; decían todos. La Sra. Swallow, la ama de llaves, se inquietaba por ello regularmente. —Ya no soporto la forma en que estas pequeñas criaturas mastiquen un par de zapatos cuando no hay alguien que este mirando,— dijo ella al mayordomo, un alma confortante que lleva el nombre de Sr. Cherryderry.

      —Entiendo lo que me está diciendo,— dijo él a ella con un tono en su voz que ella no escuchaba frecuentemente.—No las soporto, con esas narices puntiagudas y esos ladridos en la noche, y—“

      —¡La forma como comen!— Interrumpió la Sra. Swallow. —¡Desde la mesa, desde los propios platos!—

      —Es desde los platos,— dijo Cherryderry. —Lo he visto con mis propios ojos, Sra. Swallow, ¡eso he visto! ¡De las manos de la  propia Sra. Daltry!—

      El pequeño chillido de la Sra. Swallow se podría haber escuchado en el salón de estar…  con la excepción de que las ratas estaban haciendo tremenda bulla que nadie en la cámara podía escuchar algo.

Uno

La casa Yarrow
La residencia de la Sra. Mariana Daltry, su hija Victoria
y la señorita Katherine Daltry.

      La señorita  Katherine Daltry, conocida por casi todos como Kate, se desmonto de su caballo enfurecida.

      Hay que decir que la situación no era desconocida para ella. Siete años atras, antes de que su padre muriera, ella ya se encontraba irritada, varia veces con su nueva madrastra. Pero no fue hasta que él se había ido, y la nueva señora Daltry – que había ocupado ese título por cuestión de pocos meses – empezara a gobernar la casa, que Kate realmente comprendió  el significado de ira.

      Ira era ver como los inquilinos de la finca se veían obligados a pagar el doble del alquiler o dejar las cabañas donde habían vivido todas sus vidas. Ira era ver como los cultivos se marchitan y los setos crecían en exceso, debido  a que su madrastra escatimaba el dinero necesario para mantener la finca. Ira era ver  como el dinero de su padre, se gastaba en nuevos vestidos y sombreros y cosas con blondas… tan numerosos que ni su madrastra o hermanastra pudieran encontrar suficientes días en el año para ponérselos todos.

      Eran las miradas de compasión que provenían de conocidos que nunca más la encontraron en las cenas. Estaba siendo relegada a una cámara en el ático, con muebles desteñidos que anuncian cuanto ella valía  relativamente en el hogar. Era el auto-odio de alguien que no se atrevía a dejar su hogar y dejar todo atrás. Impulsada por la humillación y la desesperación, y la certeza absoluta de que su padre deberia estar revolviéndose en su tumba.

Translated by Lilyana Chu-Wong

Para mi projecto final he seleccionado Memorias de mi amnesia del autor Puertoriqueño Pedro Juan Soto. Este escritor ha sido influenciado por Ernest Hemingway y tiene una esencia de controversia en su manera de escribir.

Memorias de mi amnesia – Pedro Juan Soto

Editorial Cultural, 1991

Para el proyecto final he decidido traducir al ingles, “La Verdad Sin Calzones” del autor colombiano Juan Guillermo Valderrama Santamaria. El libro describe la experiencia personal del autor , y su permanencia en una comunidad terapéutica. Escrito con lenguaje de las calles de Medellin, constituye testimonio autentico de una parte de la historia de Medellin, como el robo, asesinatos, prostitución, trafico de drogas, entre muchas cosas mas.

Para mi proyecto final escogi un libro de Chiqui Vicioso llamado Umbral del milenio el cual tiene varios cuentos. Entre estos cuentos hay uno llamado maldito invierno el cual opte por traducir de espanol a ingles para  mi proyecto final. Mi proyecto consistira en una introduccion sobre la autora, luego la traduccion del cuento y una conclusion mostrando mi entendimiento sobre el cento , lo complicado y lo mas facil sobre el mismo.

Unidentified Guatemalan Female Immigrant

It’s been days, weeks now, that I’ve been looking thinking of you looking for you, wondering whether you look like the undocumented Guatemalan girl that I met four years ago at the Tapachula immigration station which was like a golden cage. The girl was about to be deported-joint repatriation, as you say it in the correct language in immigrant institutions, that report with white gloves and handcuffs if necessary. It wasn’t the first time she tried going north and crossing over, it was the second time they’d deported her and she went on smiling with that adventurous look on her face, ironically clutching the obligatory booklet on her human rights.

Remembering her, vital and brilliant, I asked myself what was her experience, an anonymous dead girl. If it was your first time when all 13 women, certainly all very young, were ambushed, as if being locked in a cradle, as if they were animals in which it was a total of seventy two people, threaten and beaten to be accepted for the “offer” that they made to work for “them” and for the females, so they could pay with their own bodies and be brought into disappearance and the secrecy of this treatment, this is  a perverse business in which ones’ own body is used and abused like a slave.

The unidentified girl from Guatemala whom I look for in my imagination was willing to try again and again, leave-cross-arrive, to stop feeling used and abused by her own community, by men who claimed to care about her but who abused her. She kept dreaming about a more valuable and free life, she planned to escape, she got together with a girl her age, they collected some money, set off, and finally were able to cross the Suchiate by paying some quetzals. It was in Mexico where the worst started, although they decided not to get on the train, but to walk as much as possible, they had blisters on their exhausted feet so they decided to take some bus. They were detained because of their skin color and their way of talking, as always, the signs of identity and discrimination, abducted and subjected to threats and calls, from siblings from the other side to pay for their rescue. Siblings did not answer the calls, they did not have the money nor the means, and the two immigrant friends that escaped together from Guatemala looking for another life were raped and submitted by police and immigration personal, how would you know, and forced to either sell their bodies or die. Realizing this was not life, that there was no choice, the girl from Guatemala, whom I think saw in an instant everything she lived and dreamed, fell on her friend like an impossible embrace, so that together they would either resist or die.

Central American mothers who have started today a caravan through Mexico looking for their immigrant “missing” sons and daughters, they will find them one day if we help them, so we will all know disappearance in our country means annihilation, by physical death or mental disintegration.

Author: Isabel Vericat

Translated by Laura Triana and Janitza Solarte

Amor se escribe sin hache- enrique jadiel

Para mi proyeto final realizare la traduccion de J.M. Servín (Mexico, 1962), D.F. Confidencial: Crónicas de delincuents, vagos y demás gente sin futuro (Almadía 2010).

Ya que no puse quienes fueron los autores en mi post original: Mi midterm compara las traducciones de El Gran Gatsby de Parker y Maria Andrade. Cada traducción tenia un proposito diferente, y por lo tanto las versiones eran muy distintas, pero ambas validas.

For the final project I will be translating a book called “Un Momento Muy Largo” by Silvina Bullrich, this is a book from Argentina.